One for the Milk, Two for the Elves
by Master Tauren Chieftain
Summary: Let's see what happens when you cross three heroes with a rogue Sephiroth clone and a bunch of rigged elves? MEANT TO BE TAKEN IN A HEAVILY SATIRICAL Think Red Dwarf SENSE.


Cid shrugged and flicked the ash off his cigarette as he and the head navigator of the Highwind stood on the catwalk on the lowest level of the airship. "So where are we, navigat'r?"

"Well," the head navigator began, "we are currently headed to the North Pole en route. We estimate Mr. Claus to have plenty of milk for the crew." He punctuated this by looking over the railing and spitting into the clouds below. "And none of that evaporated crap either."

Cid breathed a sigh of relief. "We wouldn' ev'n hav'ta do this if _someone_-" Cid glared at Tifa a few windows above, as well looking at the majesty of being in the middle of a cloud. "would keep their goddamn hands off the special f-ing milk!" He made sure Tifa could hear through the window; he wanted to express his anger to the _fullest_ extent he could.

Icy clouds gave way to icy cold mountains, and Cid re-entered the ship and took the elevator to the bridge. It was then that the ship loomed over a snowy clearing with buildings on it. Derricks were scattered everywhere, and factories in which to refine the crude leche and to create baked sugar for enjoyment with them were linked by roads, where sleighs with wheels on them took materials from place to place. He smiled for a second- before a loud siren coming from their village alerted the inhabitants to their posts. That's when he knew what he had to do.

Tifa and Barret waited in the briefing room as Cid met up with them. "Aright, gang. Go fer the derricks and wait for the Highwind to secure hoses to 'em before movin' on. We're gonna be 'ttackin' these six main derricks-" he laid out a digital map on a table in the center "-and for the goddamn hundredth time, _don't kill the goddern elves!"_ They blanched, but stood ready as the Highwind lowered the entire room down. They grabbed their equipment, a sharpened peppermint stick for Cid's hands, drawstring sacks for Tifa's fists, and similar hard candy ammunition for Barret's gun. And they leapt out of the room and to separate derricks.

Cid didn't have to wait too long before he encountered some elves. He stood in place, contemplating for some reason his next action. Of course, he would've picked "stab stab stab", but something about his weapon made him want to lick it- or swallow it- more than stab with it. An elf knifed Cid for about half of his health, and that snapped him out. He stabbed the knifing elf square in the chest, yet no sign of pain showed in his face. "Aaah! What are you things?!" he shouted in distress. Becoming angry enough, he radioed the Highwind above to drop a bomb path towards and at the Derricks. The bombs hit the elves, which crumbled into Tarterian black ice and peppermint evil, and the derricks themselves were overkilled into simple holes in the ground spurting with a white substance. Quickly, the Highwind threw down nozzles, which Cid swiftly afixed to the hole, and with a sense of accomplishment, rode the nozzles up as two tanks filled completely with crude, raw milk.

However, Tifa and Barret had much less luck. Soon after dropping off, they could feel an evil presence within themselves. They were frozen in fear as out of nowhere, a rotund, mostly red and white figure formed from the snow behind the two heroes. "Ho, ho, ho..." Tifa spun around immediately. "S-s-s-santa?" She couldn't believe her eyes. The menacing blob of fat frowned and removed his cap while drawing his blade. Flowing silver hair attempted to trail behind him gracefully but instead became a riverfall against overflowing blubber, and his blue-green eyes were almost bugged out. At least his sword looked familiar. "Sephiroth?" Barret spun around as well. "Wow, man, you really let 'chaself go." The figure became berserk with rage. "_I'm in the middle of a f-ing snowcap, with only milk refineries and cookie farms far as the eye can see! These elves are too badass to try to spar with them, and sales have been low this year..._" He glared at the duo, who could not stop themselves from laughing if they tried.

Santa Cl- I mean, Sephiroth demanded one more time that they stop, and of course, this laughter was unconrollable. Sephiroth began to glow with red energy in a charge for an attack, when Tifa fired off a stray Bolt-3. After bouncing off several canyonsides, it bullseyed Sephiroth in the chest and sent him- or his corpse rather- flying off into the sea. Tifa finally was able to stop laughing. "Hey, where'd he go?" Barret finally stopped, and spoke, "That had to be one of Seph's clones." Barret then reminded Tifa of their mission and funneled the pipes of some derricks into already deployed hoses, and as an additional benefit, stole the cookies from several farm/factories and stuffed them into bags. Swinging them over their shoulder, Tifa and Barret rode separate milk hoses up back to the Highwind.

"Woo! We did it!" Cid cheered. "Th' mission was a rousin' success! We got 'nuf milk for the whole damn victory party for this mission!" Tifa chuckled, "Heh. So the objective was to kill that weak Sephiroth clone rather than steal the Elves of Rigged' milk." Cid remarked, "The milk was really an added bonus. N' Tifa..."

Cid shouted over a megaphone though she was only 5 feet away. "_**Keep yer mitts off my goddamn milk!!**_"


End file.
